Forever Seperated
by faberry-fucking
Summary: After Rachel is killed in an accidental shooting, she watches Quinn cope with her loss while trying to help her, communicate with her, and stay on earth until she's ready to pass on.
1. Chapter 1: My Final Day

Chapter One:

My Final Day

"I love you" I said, before pecking Quinn on the lips. Those were the last words I would ever say - as a human, at least. I grabbed my purse off the counter and gave Quinn a quick look before leaving our apartment in New York City. We'd both realized our dreams. Well, not exactly, but we were on our way. I'd graduated from NYADA and Quinn had graduated from Yale. She was an actress, but opportunities were scarce. Quinn had landed a couple of roles in commercials and as extras and TV shows and movies, but it wasn't enough. For Quinn, of course, she was happy with it. She thought that she was incredibly lucky and not nearly talented enough to have gotten the roles that she did. For me, it wasn't enough. See, I have these high expectations of Quinn. I know she's special and talented and could be the most famous, successful actress alive. But that's the problem. I know that, but Quinn doesn't. The only thing that holds her back are her insecurities. As much as I tried to give her confidence in herself, it never fully sunk in.

I was on Broadway, as destined. I usually played the role of a background dancer or a a minor character. I was happy with it, but I definetly hadn't reached my goat, not that I was expecting to for another couple of years.

My hair was a bit longer, although it had generally stayed the same. My style had matured a little, thanks to the help of Quinn, and I think I looked a lot better. Quinn's hair was still short, she was still beautiful. If anything, she was more beautiful. All of those "teenage raging hormones" left the moment she turned twenty, and now she was perfect. Obviously, this was destined too. I was the mildly attractive broadway starlet, and Quinn was the pulchritudinous strugging actress.

"Love you too, Rach" Quinn called as I shut the door. Unfortunately, those weren't the last words I'd hear. It would have been a blessing for the last words I'd hear to have come out of Quinn's mouth. I wish the last words I heard sounded as beautiful as Quinn's voice.

It was ten o'clock at night, and we hadn't eaten dinner yet. Quinn was completely prepared to cook something, but then realized we were out of milk, and asked me to _please _go to the grocery store to pick it up. I obliged, knowing that Quinn was tired. When she wasn't acting in commercials, she worked low-paying jobs. At that point, she was a waitress at a local diner that served particularly good milk shakes.

I walked down the stairs, past an arguing couple and two little boys screaming and playing tag. I quickly moved past them all in a rush. The grocery store closed in twenty minutes, and as usual, the traffic was awful. Good thing I knew a short cut. I cut through an alley, running. I went through backroad after backroad until I got to a specific alley, where my life would end. There were two men there, each pointing a gun at the other's head. I let out a terrified squeak, inadvertently letting the men know I was there. They both turned their heads quickly. One looked just as terrified as I did and the other looked hard, as though he held no emotion. The emotionless one pointed the gun at my and shot, and I was dead before I could comprehend what happened.

I was on the ground for a moment and blinked, confused. I stood up and looked down at her body. _How am I not in my body? _I asked myself. I looked at my hand (the one that was attached to me) and touched it. I could feel it. But then how could there be two of me? I looked down at the ground at my own lifeless eyes, and that's when I realized I was dead. I looked over, and saw one of the men running, the other one chasing him, not far behind. I paced around the alleyway, unsure what to do. Was there a chance I could be brought back? I looked at my dead body. _No, _I decided. It was too late for me. _But what about Quinn? Will she be okay without me? Will she have enough money? I didn't get the milk. _Worried thoughts flooded my mind as I tried to figure out what to do with my life - well, my _after_life.

I needed to figure a couple things out. What could I still do? Could I sleep or eat? I certainly wanted to. Could I communicate with others? That was a crucial question. I ran down the alleyway and into an apartment. I opened up the door, and he looked over. He saw the door was open and began to walk over, and I slipped out of the way before he closed it. I decided to make contact with him.

"Hello" I said hesitantly. He didn't look up. He didn't seem to acknowledge that I existed. I hated this, and a wave of anger swept over me. I had been through people acting like I didn't exist, but he obviously didn't even _know _I existed. It was infuriating. This anger that I felt - this seemed to catch his attention. He shivered and looked up, scared.

"Who's there?" He asked. I didn't answer. I had the information I needed, and it was time to get on to what really mattered right now. What was happening to Quinn, and what was happening to my body. I jogged down the stairs and back to my body. I tried something that nobody in the movies _ever _tried. Or not in any movies I'd seen. I lay down, in my body, hoping for it to reanimate. I closed my eyes tightly, and then opened them. I got up, half-expecting to be back in my body, but I wasn't. My body was still dead on the ground, and it looked as though people were starting to notice. A group of five or so people crowded around, awe-struck. They dialed 911, and soon enough, police were there, looking at my body. They looked in my pockets for contact information, and found my wallet (with my ID) cell phone. Seriously? I had my cell phone? I could've left the alley and called the police, and none of this would have happened! They looked on my emergency call list, and decided on home.

It rang twice, before Quinn answered "Hey, Rach" She said "Are you almost home."

"Hi, this officer smith, I have some news about Rachel." The man, who now had a name, officer smith, said. Some news? Was he being purposefully vague or was he just stupid?

Quinn hesitated "Do I need to bail her out of jail or something? Because I swear Rachel didn't do anything bad. She's not like that."

"No, it's not that. Who is speaking please?" Officer Smith asked. _Get to the point! _Rachel thought, irritated.

"Quinn Fabray. I'm Rachel's girlfriend." Quinn answered proudly.

"I have Rachel here. She has been shot." Officer Smith said carefully.

"Is she going to be okay?" Quinn asked.

"I'm afraid that she's already gone."

"What?"

"She's dead... I'm so sorry." Officer Smith replied.

"I can't - this isn't real. This is a horrible night mare, it's not real." Quinn said.

"Miss Fabray, this is..."

"It's not real!" Quinn inisited.

"I know how hard it is to lose someone close to you, but you do have to accept that she is gone." Officer Smith tried to sound sympathetic.

"No! She's not gone!" Quinn yelled through the phone angrily "She can't be gone!"

"I'm so sorry."

"We were... we we're going to get married." Quinn mumbled. We were? Since when we were getting married?

"She's your fiance?" Officer Smith asked, taking out his yellow note pad and writing a few things down.

"No... well I hadn't asked her yet. But I was planning to. Now I'll never know her answer" Quinn replied. The answer is yes, Quinn.

"I'm going to need to see you at the station tomorrow morning" Officer Smith requested.

"That's not happening. I need to go. I can't... I need to think about this and... I need to go." Quinn said, and hung up.

"Hello?" Officer Smith asked. Silence. "She hung up." He announced. What was she doing? I didn't know, so I ran. I ran to find her, see what was going on. I could run faster than I could when I was living. Everything seemed to pass in a blur - I was unsure of what I was passing, yet I didn't run into anything. I knew where I was going, I knew exactly how many minutes, excuse me, _seconds_, until I'd be with Quinn. And it was thirty eight. Thirty eight seconds until I could see Quinn. She couldn't do anything in thirty-eight seconds, could she? Of course, what would she do anyway? Kill herself? That's not Quinn, and it's not like she'd do it over _my _death, I'm _Rachel Berry. _Who would kill herself over losing me?

Sometimes I get as insecure as Quinn.

And of course, if she did try to kill herself, what would I be able to do to stop it? Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. But really, how badly would it affect _me _if _Quinn _killed herself? Technically, I wouldn't lose anything. I'd actually gain from it, I'd get to be with her, communicate with her, kiss her. But this isn't about me anymore, I'm dead, nothing's about me. This is about Quinn, and if she kills herself, she has a lot to lose. Quinn had so much potential, I couldn't let her throw it away. I stopped running, I had arrived at the apartment, and climbed in the open window. Quinn was huddled into herself on the bed, whispering something I couldn't here to herself. I forced myself to hear it from far away, and I realized it was the same words over and over again: "It's not real, it's not real, it's not real..." I felt my heart break at the pain Quinn was feeling, and I turned away, unable to look at her like that. I tried to find something I could do for her. I silently closed the window, and Quinn didn't notice. I approached Quinn, imagining the sound of her ballet flats squeeking against the floor. They made no sound, but I heard them out of habit.

Quinn was curled up on her bed, and I leaned over to hear what she was saying. It was different this time, it wasn't the same thing over and over again. It was a prayer, I realized, Quinn must have come to the realization that I _had _died.

"... That Rachel is in heaven now, and she's happy..." Quinn had said, along with some other things. I wasn't in heaven, and I certainly wasn't happy. I was here, on earth, for some reason unknown to me, and I was in pain watching Quinn. I knew that I couldn't go to heaven - or hell, really. Wherever I was going, I didn't know yet. I couldn't go to heaven because I had to make sure Quinn was alright, and... she had to eat dinner. Quinn _had _to have dinner, she _had _to get her milk for whatever she was planning on cooking. How could I make her eat? How could I manipulate something to - a plate in the kitchen fell and broke. _I _did it. I don't know how I did it, I just willed it to happen, and it did. And it also got the effect I wanted. Quinn's head snapped up, and I wondered if I had interrupted her. I hadn't, though, I could tell by her facial expression. Everytime I did interrupt her, she looked at me with this _face. _It looked like a mixture of frustration, anger, adoration, confusion, and irritation. And she always had to start all over again. I had asked her why once, and she said "If I don't say it all at once, the message doesn't get across correctly." I never understood that very well, but Quinn seemed to, and it's never been a secret that she's far more intelligent than I am.

Quinn got up from her bed and walked into the kitchen, looking at the broken glass. She went around it - but I watched her foot slowly but surely descend onto a sharp peice. It dug into her foot, and I ran over instinctivly to help her, before realizing I couldn't actually _do _anything. And I watched it, and saw the glass inject itself into Quinn's foot before Quinn probably even felt the pain.

"Ow!" Quinn cried. She swung her leg up and put it in her hand, examining the damage. Quinn carefully pulled out the glass, wincing. "Bandages..." She mumbled. Quinn looked around the room, and opened her mouth to say something, but stopped herself. I knew that she was about to call my name for help. She didn't need to, I was going to help her anyway. I walked into the other room and grabbed the bandages, and nudged them subtly into the kitchen, and Quinn saw them. She didn't see them move into the kitchen, no, but she saw the bandages. Quinn must have thought that they had been there the whole time, and she had just missed them. She reached over and grabbed them, and put it on the bottom of her foot.

_There, _I thought proudly, _I helped her with something._ Quinn then walked back to her bed - what? What are you doing? Get back here and eat dinner! But Quinn didn't listen - well, she didn't hear my wishes, how could she? I didn't blame her for not hearing me, that would be irrational, but it was still quite frustrating. How else could I make her hunger more obvious to her? Quinn's stomach was already growling, but she was ignoring it. She was lying on the bed, shaking, tears steadily flowing towards the blanket.

"Oh Quinn..." I whispered, and sat down on the bed. I stroked her shoulder, in a failed attempt to comfort her because my hand kept falling through. Frustrated, I lay down on the bed and curled up against her. "It's okay, I'm okay. You'll be okay."

"Rachel?" Quinn asked. Could she hear me?

"Yes?" I answered eagerly. She didn't reply. She must have felt my prescense or something. It'd be impossible not to be able to feel someone's body against yours, gently rubbing your back. I watched her drift off into unconsiousness, and felt compelled to do the same, as I did when I was living. Wondering whether I could sleep, I closed my eyes. I guess I did sleep, considering I woke up to a phone call early the next morning. Quinn groaned and rolled over, obviously not wanting to answer.

"Can you answer it, Rachel?" She asked, obviously forgetting I was dead. When Quinn got no answer, she looked over to find my side of the bed untouched, and her face fell. She answered the phone.

"Hello?" She said, and waited "Yeah, I'm Quinn Fabray," pause. "You want me to come into the station?" Pause. " I guess I could... I'll be there in a half hour." She finished and hung up. Quinn walked into the bathroom, looked in the mirror and scowled, evidently unhappy with the way she looked. See what I meant before? Insecure. Why are the most beautiful the most insecure? She spashed water on her face, emotionless. I left the room to respect her privacy - it seemed silly. Quinn wouldn't even know I was there but I still felt uncomfortable not listening to her requests. I waited patiently until she walked back into the bedroom and put on one of her signature baby doll dresses. I followed Quinn out the door and sat in her passenger seat while she stopped at a coffee shop. She ordered her regular, and the boy, who was rather cute, asked her something.

"I... No." Quinn answered.

"Just your number, it's no big deal. Maybe we can go out to dinner or something." He said.

"I just... my girlfriend just died. I'm not ready to go on a date right now." Quinn said irritably.

"Your _girl_friend? You're gay?"

"Bisexual. Does that really matter? Just get me my coffee." Quinn snapped and the boy gave her her food and coffee. Then she went to the police station, where they asked her questions, mostly about me.

"Did she have any enemies?"

"No."

"Why would anyone want to kill her?"

"I don't know."

"Where were you?"

"At home, I already told you. I was tired, and asked her to go get milk for me so I could cook dinner. Am I seriously a suspect for her murder? I didn't do it!" Quinn finally snapped.

"No, we're just trying to get as much information as possible on this. You can go now." The officer dismissed her and Quinn left in a huff. She drove back to her apartment and sat down on the bed. She put her head in her hands and cried, while I watched, horrified. How could I do this to someone? How could purely my absense do this to someone? It was still a wonder to me how Quinn, who seemd to be the epitemy of beauty and perfection, could fall in love with me, Rachel Berry. How did she manage that? How did she manage to have her heart broken by anyone she ever loved? I sat down next to her and tried to guide her. I knew she should do something, but what does one _do _after the love of their life is murdered? Sit around and watch TV? It seemed unethical. Then it struck me: my parents didn't know. Nobody did. It was Quinn's responsibility to tell them, right? I didn't know quite know how these things worked. I walked into the other room and tried to turn on the computer, but every time I pressed the button, my finger just went right through. Exasperated, I walked back to Quinn, who was anxiously tapping her fingers against her thigh, as if she was waiting for someone. Or something. Something just to tell her what to do. I could see it in her eyes, the tears coming. And I knew that she didn't want to cry, she wanted to push the emotions to the side, like she did in high school. And then, just like in high school, they would explode into a mess of uncertainty, sadness, and anger. And that wasn't even the worst part, the worst part was watching her fake it. Watching were pretend to be happy all of junior year, after the pregnancy, that was the worst. Seeing her push everyone away so she could stay in her bubble - it was awful. And I couldn't do anything about then because I didn't have the guts. And now I couldn't do anything about it because I was _dead. _

I wonder how I accepted it so easily, that I was dead. It seemed almost surreal, and dying without ever becoming famous was at one point my worst nightmare. But now, for some reason, I was alright with it. I didn't understand it, and I didn't expect to any time soon. I knew that I would be able to go to heaven when I was ready and wanted to, but I wasn't ready ready and I didn't want to. I wanted to stay here with Quinn and console her. However impossible, I felt as though it was the right thing to do. I knew that life - existense, really - would be much better in heaven than it was here, but I needed to stay here for Quinn. It was the first time I had ever really done something selfless. I laughed - not once in my _life _had I done something selfless, of course I had to wait until I died. It was something Santana would have liked to make some sort of demeaning comment on.

Quinn had evidently felt some sort of comfort in this finger-tapping, leg bouncing, eye-darting action, and did it for the rest of the day. As soon as the sun set, Quinn crawled into bed without taking a shower or brushing her teath. She didn't touch my side of the bed, which was kind of her, considering I needed that side to sleep. I lay down next to her, and dozed off into a blissful sleep, where I dreamt Quinn and I were together. A few hours later she awoke, and began to get dressed into her waitress outfit for the diner she worked in. It was a cute outfit, it had a short, light pink skirt and a white fitted tee shirts with ruffles around the v-neck. Quinn put on a pair of flats, brushed out her hair, and went on her way. I had never approved of this job, because, like I said before, I knew Quinn could do better. However, I _did _approve of this outfit. Even now, when I was nothing more than a change of temperature in the air, it gave me the same pleasant warm feeling in my lower abdomen. It made me, for a lack of better words, horny. I waited for this feeling to pass, as it always did, shortly after Quinn left. It was always frustrating to leave this feeling of wanting lying around when I knew I couldn't satisfy it.

I knew what I had to do with this time. I had to experiment, figure out what I could and couldn't do. I sat down on a chair and fell right through. Unsure, I rested my hand on it, and it seemed to register my touch. Then I sat again, and it supported my weight. I tried to open the computer, though, and I couldn't do it. I tried resting my hand on it first, and then it registered my touch and allowed it to sit there, but I couldn't _do _anything by myself. Obviously my options as a ghost were very limited


	2. Chapter 2: Transition

**Chapter Two: Transition**

It's been two weeks since my death, and I accepted it. Quinn hasn't yet, but I honestly don't expect her to for a while now. She's been having financial issues since she doesn't have me bringing in money, and she's been pretty much ignoring every single task at hand. Call people to tell them about my death? Nope. Plan my funeral? Nope. Pay the bills? Nope. Get milk? Nope.

I think she's scared to get milk. I think once she gets the milk, it solidifies the fact that I'm not there anymore. Because not having milk is one thing that hasn't changed since I died, and I think she needs something like that. Something stable. I used to be that something stable, but now I'm gone. In her mind, at least. I wish I could make my prescence known, somehow. I spent loads of time and energy just trying to get her to hear my voice. I tried to concentrate my emotions and thoughts like they do in movies, but I've never really understood that process. How do you concentrate something that abstract? I'm almost positive once I learn how to do that, I'll be able to contact Quinn. Well, I don't know for sure, but it's my only hope right now.

She wakes up. It's Saturday, which means she's off from work. She usually spends these days in bed, crying, or in the bathroom, throwing up from the sadness. I've been there before - sobbing so hard I end up sitting over the toilet, vomiting uncontrollably. But today is different, for some reason. For some reason, unknown to me, she feels compelled to do something. I'm proud of her - I'd much rather see her occupying herself than sitting around crying. Quinn dials a phone number, and I recognize it. It's my dads'.

"Hi, this is Quinn." Quinn says.

"I'm... okay, how are you?" Quinn replies to something I don't hear.

"I um, I have some bad news about Rachel."

"She um, I um, a few weeks ago, and I'm really sorry, I should have told you sooner. A few weeks ago, I was cooking dinner and needed some milk. So I asked Rachel to go out and get some. And on her way there, she was... she was shot by someone. She's um... she was killed" Quinn explained nervously. There was an appalled response on the other line.

"I know, I know. I - Don't blame _me, _Leroy! This wasn't my fault! I- Yes, I know I was the one who asked her to go get milk but I never would have thought that - I know you lost your daughter, and I know you must feel so terrible, but I - Don't you think I feel guilty enough already! ... No, I haven't planned the funeral yet but I'll be getting right on that - you want to plan it? Well she is your daughter and we weren't married so by all means feel free to - You think I'm not upset? I AM upset. I lost someone who I loved more than anything in the world! ... I know she's your daughter, and you loved her, and I'm sorry! ... It's not my fault! It's not like I'm the one who shot her! ... If you still want to plan her funeral, then get your ass up to New York, because she's gonna be buried _here." _Quinn says, before violently slamming down the phone. I can only imagine what kind of cruel words were coming in through the other line, and I'm not sure I want to. My dads' have always been this vision of perfection to me, and now I seem to have lost it. Now that they've treated Quinn that way, and I know that it was out of rage and shock and sadness, I just don't know if i can think of them the same way. Not unless they apologize, and they better, for Quinn's sake. Because now she's crying.

I hate it when she cries now. I always have, don't get me wrong, but at least I could comfort her before. Now I can't even comfort her because she doesn't know I'm here. And - oh shit - my funeral. What if once I have this funeral, I'll be forced to leave? Then I sit next to Quinn and begin to cry too. I'm not ready to leave Quinn yet. I need to learn how to contact Quinn before I leave. I want to tell her I'm happy, even though it's a dead lie. Because I know that if she thinks I'm happy then she'll be comforted and happy and I'll be able to move on to heaven or wherever the hell I'm going. I know that I _need _to move on, and eventually I will. But right now, I'm just... not ready. I still feel this obligation to stay with Quinn. I don't understand it, but I feel it.

"Quinn," I say, in a futile attempt to console her, "It's okay. Don't listen to him. He's just angry."

She seems to feel my prescence, or I think she does. It may just be a coincidence. But if it is, it's a damn big one.

"Oh Rachel, why did you have to leave me? Why did you leave me to deal with this mess?" Quinn asks the ground. Her head is still in her hands, and she's staring at her knees. I don't know how to respond to this, or even if I could. I haven't actually left her, technically. I'm sitting right next to her, but I move. Now I'm kneeling in front of her, not that it makes a difference to _her _anyway. But it makes a big one to me. Now I can see her face. Really, I haven't left at all, but I'm sure that's not what she meant. She meant _dying, _I think. And with that, I didn't really have a choice, did I? I mean, I guess if you get right down to it, it _was _my fault for taking the back alleyway. But there's no way she's actually blaming me for this, right? That would be even stupider than blaming herself for asking me to go get some milk. I need to answer her now, if there even is a chance she can hear me.

I can't think of anything, so I lamely settle on "I'm sorry."

Oh, this could _not_ be a coincidence. It is a coincidence, though, I can tell, because Quinn would definetly react differently if she heard what I'd said. Still, this _is _a plausable response.

"Of course you'd never answer the question." Quinn says, giving up.

This could actually be a reply to what I'd said, but it could just be Quinn heard nothing. And how it went in her mind could be "Oh Rachel, why did you have to leave me? Why did you leave me with this mess?" Silence. "Of course you'd never answer the question."

But then there was the question part, which kind of implies that I'd said something, but not answered the question. Which is true, that is what happened. I shouldn't be over-analyzing this. It's not healthy. _Ha, _I think, _Not healthy. I'm already dead. _So I do decide to over-analyze this. It's not like i have anything better to do anyway. So I start experimenting.

"Quinn, I..." I start before realizing that, in order for me to accurately tell if she can hear me, I need to ask a simple yes or no question. "Do you think it's your fault that I died?" Silence. "Do you think it's my fault?" Silence. "Can you hear me?" Silence.

No, she can't hear me.

Well, this is disappointing. I get up and leave Quinn alone without a second glance, overwhelmed with despair. Too preoccupied with my own pain to deal with hers, I uselessly walk around in circles, concentrating on how to fix this problem. It's been two weeks without communication with anyone. I know that it's going to be a while until I'll be able to, and I can't even handle _two freaking weeks. _And I suppose that it's going to be around a year until I can talk to Quinn (This is all just an estimate, and there's a very good chance that I'm wrong, but for argument's sake, let's just go with a year) so I'll probably be insane by then. Can I even go insane? Can dead people go insane? I don't see why not, that's a mental thing, not a physical thing. I'm not planning on finding out, though, if you're wondering. After pacing around, I collapse onto the floor, exhausted and upset. I curl up into a ball, like Quinn did two weeks ago, and cry. After a couple minutes, I hear Quinn's voice.

"Hi Santana, it's Quinn... I'm okay, how are you? ... That's good, how about Brittany? ... Oh, okay. Well, um, I know that you and Rachel were never really the closest of friends and... Yes, this has a point. I um, two weeks ago, she went out to the grocery store and um, on her way there, someone shot her and killed her. ...No, we don't know who yet. I - No, I'm not planning the funeral, Leroy and Hiram are, but I'm sure you'll be invited. ... I'm doing fine, well, for a person who's girlfriend just died. I'm mostly kind of shocked still. But, um, I don't know about the funeral, though. They probably want something private, so chances are I won't even be invited. Which sucks, but um, don't go out and like buy a new dress or something yet. ... Okay, alright. Thanks, Santana. I guess I'll see you whenever. ...Bye, S." Quinn says, and I can fill in the lines of her conversation. Santana, who's inherently a bitch, seemed to be much more supportive than my parents, who were inherently nice. I guess a death can either bring out the best or worst in people.

I walk back into the bedroom, where Quinn is sitting, dialing numbers and telling people in the same way: emotionless, distant, and cold. Forcing herself not to think about it is probably the only way she can keep herself from bursting out into tears at any moment. I don't know what to do, how to keep myself here after my funeral. I concentrate my emotions, and fail miserably. How on earth do you concentrate your emotions? That philosophy doesn't even make sense. I give up.

Wait... no. I don't give up. I'm Rachel Berry! I can do anything or be anything I want to! There is not one person, dead or alive, who is more determined than me, and I know I can do this. Wait... one person, _dead_ or alive. Are there others like me? I need to find out! I rush to the door, swing it open (and yes, Quinn notices, but assumes it's just the wind) and run to the local hospital. That's got to be where the most people like me are, right? I have one minute and forty-two seconds until I get there... that is one good thing about being dead. My insanely accurate and precise internal clock. I arrive at the hospital, one minute and forty-two seconds later, and I sit down. I can't tell these people apart.

"Hi." A man says. Is he talking to me? I whip my head to the side to look at him.

I hesitate, and then say "Hi... can you see me?"

"Yeah," The man shrugs "I can see you."

Shocked and delighted, I break into a smile "Are you...?"

"Dead." The man answers. He's actually barely old enough to be a man, he looks like he's in high school. My smile fades as I realize I really do have no communication with the living.

"Oh." I say, disappointed.

"How'd you die?" The boy asks, and I'm taken aback. Is this considered rude? I'm really no expert on ghost etiquette. Did I really just consider myself a ghost? That's quite odd, and I'm not sure if I like it. A ghost seems very... science-fiction-paranormal-activity-stupid-movie, and I am not that. I'm a spirit? No, spirit is even worse. I'm just Rachel. Dead Rachel Berry.

"Oh, sorry. Guessing you're a newbie. The whole dead but stuck on earth thing is pretty depressing. The accepting of it comes pretty slowly, so, yeah, sorry. That may have been too soon." The boy shrugged.

"No, no, it's not that. I just... I don't know, I didn't know that you just asked random strangers that." I explain, taking a seat next to him. He nods and continues looking blankly ahead. "I'm assuming you've been dead for a while." I say.

"Three and a half years" He says as if it's nothing. I gasp.

"I don't know what the hell is keeping me here anyway. I mean, I can't think of anything else to like..._do, _you know? You know how they say you have to make sure everything's in order before you go? I guess I'm doing that, but everything _is _in order. But I guess it can't be, there must be something I'm missing." The boy says, exasperated.

"Maybe you're not missing anything." I suggest.

"What?"

"Maybe this is just the afterlife."

He looks incredulous "No, it's not."

"How do you know?" I question, raising a tentative eye brow.

He waits for a second, as if he's searching for words. "I've seen people pass on" He admits.

I stop and look at him for a second, "What's it like?"

"What's what like? Passing on? I don't know, I'm still here."

"No, seeing someone else pass on." I clarify.

He shrugs "Depends on where you're going." I look at him, waiting for more information. "There um, there are two places. That I know of. In one, the good one, this thing... this... I don't know. It's like a feeling, I guess. Of like, happiness? I don't know, I've never felt that way since like... ever. And it fills the whole room. Hey, don't laugh! I'm serious. I know it sounds corny as fuck, but listen. And then the person gets like this _huge _smile on their face, like they just got their first erection or something. And they're like 'Bye.' And they don't keep smiling. The huge smile lasts for like a second, if it was more it'd be creepy. But they look really happy. And it's slow and they just... fade out."

"That's heaven?" I ask.

"I'm assuming."

"What's hell like?"

"Scary. You don't know what's going on. The person just starts screaming in pain and you don't know what you can do to help them. And pain is scarier than shit because if you've noticed, we don't really _feel _pain. So yeah, the first guy I saw go had been dead for ten years. Can you imagine? Ten years without pain. And than suddenly it's excruciating" He shudders, "And you're scared. Everyone's scared. Even the living are scared. Bad things happen to them. Your son will just happen to break his arm, or that person in a coma who's about to wake up? They'll die too. It's not always that bad. Sometimes the power goes out, or they slip or stub their toes or something. And then the dead person is going, they're screaming, they're struggling and definitely trying to get something off of them, but we can't see it. So we'll touch them - because we can touch each other, you know that, right? Guess not. But um, we'll touch them and they'll be _burning _hot. And it hurts. And I know I said we can't feel pain but when it's like that we can. It's our own little taste of hell. And then they're black. LIke... the colour of the wall black, not like African black. And then they're gone."

"Sounds horrible"

"It is."

I'm scared, "What if I'm going there?"

"Nothing you can do about it now." He answers, blase.

"Can't try to turn it around?" I ask, panic filled.

"No. Not now."

We sit in silence for a moment.

"Wanna meet up some other time?" The boy offered.

"Uh, sure. What's your name?"

"Jason."

"Rachel Berry."

Another moment of silence.

"Okay, Jason. How did you die?" I say finally.

"Overdose."

More silence.

"I like you," He says.

"Oh. Wait! Like, like like?" I answer, scared.

"Uh, yeah. And I haven't had sex since I was alive so..."

"I'm in love with someone else."

"Is he dead?"

"_She's _alive."

"Then you got no chance, Berry" Jason calls as I leave. The truth of his words strikes me.

I do have no chance.

* * *

><p><strong>OOC: How did you guys like this chapter? Thank you guys for all the favorite story and story alert things, but I've actually gotten no reviews so far, so if you could send in some, that'd be great. The next chapter will probably be up in a week or so. To be honest, I actually haven't even thought about that chapter yet, so maybe a bit longer.<strong>


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